


Fics written for Queer Fest in '14

by Missy



Category: Brave (2012), Evil Dead (Movies), Futurama, Psych, South Park, The Simpsons
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Bonding, Coming Out, Crack, Families of Choice, Family Dinners, Family Secrets, Football, Hiding, Humor, Meet the Family, Multi, Romance, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:36:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2000514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>8 fics written for queer fest in '14, of varying length and subject matter.  See each individual chapter for summary and prompt used.</p><p>Carl and Lenny's plan for a quiet wedding is promptly ruined (and made EVEN BETTER) by Homer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Good Not-Quite Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of fics I wrote for queer_fest in '14. Thank you to Red Fiona for beta.
> 
> The Prompt I used: The Simpsons, Lenny Leonard/Carl Carlson, Getting married wasn't the bad idea so much as part where they were getting married by Homer. On the upside negotiating married life has to be easier than that. And have fewer fireballs.

Moe’s Tavern wasn’t the ideal place to announce good news. It was leagues past happy hour and most of the regulars sat pitched forward in their seats, sucking on the polished pine of Moe’s fixtures, dizzied by the amount of intoxicants they’d imbibed over the evening. But two of the stools sat conspicuously empty. 

The surly guy behind the bar glared as Lenny and Carl finally walked through his front door. “Great, more alkies to feed.” He extended his elbow and nudged Barney – who had stretched out over the top of the bar like a bloated whale – away from the taps. Grimacing, he muttered something about spit on the taps before turning back toward Lenny and Carl. “What can I get you guys?”

“A bag of rice!” Carl enthused.

““You’re looking at the smiling faces of two would-be domestic partners!” Lenny said, grinning widely. 

“Aww, that’s terrific,” Moe declared, slapping the bar with his rag and sending drops of beer sprinkling into ashtrays and over a pile of cheap Duff beer coasters. “Hey everybody! Drinks are half off for the next ten minutes!”

“Hey, shouldn’t they be on the house?” Barney wondered. 

“What’s it look like I’m running, a soup kitchen here?” he glowered, turning toward the taps with a glare. “Lucky SOBs, always got a ladle and all the margarine they can eat…” 

It was Homer who finally spoke up, “Waiit…does that mean you’re….you…do stuff with each other?”

“Yeah, but when we’re done I don’t have to drive him home,” Carl declared.

“You mean you guys finally figured it out?” Lenny nodded enthusiastically while Carl shrugged. Homer reached for his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and dialed home. “June twenty-fifth! In your face, Marge!!” After a second of listening to his wife’s grousing, he hung up and turned toward his friends. “So when’s the happy day?” asked Homer.

“Next weekend,” Lenny said.

“We’re going to do it in his sister’s place.” Carl said. “She sorta insisted on it.”

Homer gasped. “That sounds like the most boring, least special wedding in the world! You guys aren’t going to settle for boring and non-special are you?”

“It was my idea,” Carl deadpanned.

“Let’s set it aside and go back to it later! But meanwhile why don’t you consider my idea?” Homer plunged eagerly through the total silence that followed. “Let ME take care of the ceremony,” Homer said. “I’ll do it for almost free! And then you can do it in my backyard!! Uh, not literally.”

“I don’t know. That doesn’t sound very intimate,” Carl said.

“I’ll provide complimentary lukewarm ginger ale for toasting and bags of kettle corn for every guest!”

Lenny rubbed his chin. “I do like kettle corn. It’s like regular popcorn that spikes my blood sugar!”

“And we can get a skywriter who’ll fill the air with the least filthy slogan money can buy.” Homer added.

Carl and Lenny exchanged glances. “Uh, to be perfectly honest, Homer, we weren’t planning on making it a big deal. We were going to go to Capitol City for the weekend.” 

“Psht! Capitol City sucks! Their bums only speak four languages and the parking garages are made of fifty percent platinum.” Homer clasped the two men in a warm embrace. “So what do you say, guys? Will you let me give you a late afternoon to remember?” 

Lenny shrugged. He and Carl locked eyes silently, and Lenny finally came up with the right words. “All right.”

Homer continued, “an expensive and heavily taxed ceremony that will be as memorable as it is beneficial…to me…”

Carl groaned. Lenny gritted his teeth. Moe scribbled out a check on the back of his overdue electric bill and sent it down the bar.

*** 

“Do you think we did the right thing?”

Carl shrugged, sucking a blob of frozen yogurt from the tip of his thumb. “We did the easiest thing.”

“But what if we end up regretting it for the rest of our lives? We work in a nuclear plant – we don’t have that much of a life left to waste!”

“Len, stop worrying about it. I didn’t bring you out to your favorite vegan, low-sodium, non-fat yogurt shop just so you could whine the whole time.”

They were promptly approached by a man dressed up in a tofu chunk costume topped with an old-fashioned panama hat. “Welcome to the Healthy Nut! I’m Blandy, the Tofutti Square and I’ll be your waiter! Today’s special is the Soy Delicious Sundae and the Sugar-Free Chocolate Surprise. The surprise is what makes it SOY delicious!”

“Uh, we’ll take two of the last one, with four spoons,” Carl said. As the waiter plodded off, he encouraged Lenny, “just relax, have a good time.” A clatter in the kitchen made both men wince – and, predictably, two seconds later Homer emerged, rolling a huge barrel of Tofutti before him as he rushed for the door. “I’M TAKINGTHISASAFREESAMPLEHILENNYHICARLTHECATERING’SALMOTDONE!”

As he zoomed away, Carl said, “didn’t he say Marge was handling the catering?”

Lenny cringed, holding his stomach. “I’m not supposed to get food in my ulcer,” he groaned.

It was Carl who chased after Homer, pulled him aside, and suggested that things were getting out of hand. Simple was better than a jailed Homer and no ceremony at all. And so, Homer promised that they’d simplify things.

“Now, do you want a forty-tier cake or a two hundred tier cake? The two hundred tier one comes with a free Sherpa!”

Carl groaned.

**** 

Somehow they managed to survive the tuxedo fitting. And all sixty-five cake tastings. And standing through several gigs at tiny clubs by bands that specialized in Roots Sadcore. And by the time they arrived at a bachelor party at Club Bananas attended by half of the church and a bunch of flame juggling acrobats, Lenny and Carl knew they were ready to face whatever the future had in store for them side by side, striving together through the crabgrass and weeds that carpeted the Simpsons’ back yard. The knew that they could survive the mud puddles, oil slicks and the nosy neighbors of life.

With eyebrows turned to raw streaks of ash by the acrobats, but nonetheless, together.


	2. We'll See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fry gives Leela every reaction but the one she needs to hear when she comes out as bisexual upon his proposing marriage to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Futurama, Turanga Leela, Leela doesn't think she should have to justify her bisexuality to her boyfriend (Fry), even if he is insecure and thinks she's going to jump into bed with the next woman who walks by.

It was Friday, the fish were singing up in the trees, the moon was low in the night sky, and Philip J. Fry was preparing a sumptuous dinner for his girlfriend, Leela. There were so many small things to attend to that he faked a ‘pulled groin’ to sneak out of work early and pick up supplies. By the time the sun was setting behind the tallest skyscraper of New New York, he’d stirred her up a meal and was fit for a particularly hungry princess army. He’d managed some thick – though dubiously acquired – bugalo steaks and fries, and had been in the process of pouring glasses of boxed wine into glass jelly jars when Leela arrived.

She didn’t have to knock anymore – that little problem had been solved by giving her a key – but the kiss she gave his cheek was still an awesome surprise.

“Do you need any help pulling your groin?”

He definitely wasn’t dating her for her delicacy. “Heh. Let me finish heating up these beans and you can pull it for me.”

“Good. The walk here worked up an appetite,” she said. “I had to outrun five muggers and a couple of zombie bell ringers!” She went about icing the wine and helping him finish up plating the dinner.

Fry was determined to make this a special date, and his corner drug store cutlery and cuisine showed he meant business. When they were crouched low around his cardboard dinner table eating ramen and plastic tubs of Mom’s Old Fashioned Pudding, Fry started thinking about how lucky he was. 

He had an amazing girlfriend. A perfect girlfriend. An amazingperfect girlfriend who was dripping beetle pudding all over his tablecloth.

He had been staring at her for just long enough to trigger Leela’s concern. “Sorry,” she gurgled out, wiping the back of her mouth against her palm. “Do I have a wing in my teeth?”

He shook his head. “I was just thinking about how great you are.”

She grinned. “Aww, that’s so sweet.” And Fry still thought she was perfect, beautiful and great – even as she wiped her mouth on the back of her palm.

“It’s the truth,” he said. “You’re the best girl in the whole galaxy!” he reached for his coat pocket. “I don’t have a lot to give you, but there’s one thing you can always count on me to do – love you as much as any man has ever loved any deadly sewer mutant.”

Leela gasped. “You love me as much as Rosanne Barr’s head loved space borg Tom Arnold?”

“Twice as much! I love you as much as Zoidberg loves garbage!” he reached out for her hand and kneeled. “Leela, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, no matter what year we live in, or what time it is. You’re always there for me, blowing on my soup when it’s hot and killing all of the bedbugs before they bite me or try to hold me for ransom. You’re the best girlfriend – but you’re too good to be a girlfriend…you should be my wife.”

“Fry,” she said, “before you go any further, I’ve got something to confess.”

He gave her a worried look. “Is the buggalo meat giving you the heaves?”

“NO! Fry, there’s something I’ve been hiding about myself, something I’ve never told anyone before!”

Fry gasped. “Do you have an extra eye? Is it in your hair?!” 

“NO, you idiot!” she crossed her arms against her breasts. “I’m bisexual.”

“Oh,” Fry said. Then a dirty grin lit his features. “OH…”

She gave him a shove. “You don’t have to be disgusting about it.” 

“I won’t be! I’ll be chill! Icy chilly cool!” He stayed silent, still holding her hand. “So will you?” he wondered.

“Oh! Oh yes!” she cried out. “I’ll marry you, Fry!”

Fry let out a ‘whoo hoo’ and slid the ring onto her finger. They paused together to admire it. “I fought a raccoon for that diamond.” He said.

“It’s nice,” she said.

*** 

It was another Friday night in New New York, which marked yet another casual date night for Leela and Fry at the Planet Express Building. In Fry’s case that meant trying to pick up a bottle of General Sisyphus’ old-fashioned Whiskey By Product without Bender swiping and glugging it all down first, and in Leela’s case that meant convincing Fry to take her outside to enjoy the warm summer evening. He packed them a picnic lunch and took them to a park (not Central Park, he insisted – a NICE park). The provisions were scarce enough that he had to buy them hot dogs, but he managed to make it back to the blanket swiftly as humanly possible, before the condiments were stolen by hamburglers. 

Leela was so distracted by the fol de roll that it took her ages to notice that Fry seemed uncomfortable. He squirmed when she asked him what was wrong. “Nothing,” he insisted. “Just…thinking.”

“Don’t! You’ll give yourself an aneurism?” 

“Huh?”

“A brain-hurt.”

“Ohh,” Fry said. He kept watching Leela – and the track of her eyes – and said, “Do you ever get distracted by really pretty girls.” She slapped him. “OW! Not me, you!”

She rubbed her palm against her thigh. “Fry, I’m not interested in anyone, no matter how beautiful he – or she – or they – or it might be!”

“But she’s a beautiful tomato!” Fry whined.

Leela followed his sightline and eyed said passing tomato. “She’s pretty saucy,” Leela said. “But I bet if you squeeze her she’ll break into a million pieces. I like my friends a little more durable.”

“Hey!” They were, naturally, speaking of a quite literally lovely tomato – with the legs of a showgirl. She turned toward them, seeds spattering into the ground as she talked. “Buncha wise guys getting fresh! Don’t make me get my hubby!” She yelled over her shoulder. “Honey, catch up!”

A very tall ketchup bottle with legs and arms rushed over. “Who’s putting the squeeze on my sweetie?” He smacked his head against a nearby tree, turning his head into a jagged crown of broken glass. “Who wants some?”

Fry and Leela fled from the scene, rushing hand in hand to the safety of the nearest shelter. “See what your jealousy did?” Leela panted.

Fry replied, “can you blame me?” 

“YES I CAN!” 

They collapsed together in the safety of a bus shelter. “Fry, your ridiculous paranoia almost got us killed. Why are you suddenly going insane in the membrane?”

“Because you’re so pretty. And so are all sorts of women!” Fry said. “Why would you want to stay with me when you can be with somebody like one of them?”

“Fry, how many times do I have to tell you that me being bisexual doesn’t change how I feel about you?! No one else has saved me in the way you have – and nobody else ever will.” She hugged him – then twisted his ear. “So stop being a paranoid dork about it.”

Fry pulled away, rubbing his ear. “Okay. You won’t kick me like that in bed for this, will you?” he asked weakly. 

“We’ll see,” she said, and patted his cheeks.


	3. Good Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lisa is frustrated with her mother's lack of response to her activism, and Homer lends a supportive - but clueless - ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The Simpsons, Lisa Simpson, After falling in love with two women in college, Lisa becomes an out and proud activist like she does with many other things near and dear to her.

He’d been in this position many times before, sadly. Knocking lightly on his daughter’s room and listening to her muffle her tears. “Come in,” she requested. 

By the time Homer opened the door, Lisa sat curled up on the bed, her chin tucked against her knee. He awkwardly lingered by the doorway until she frowned and turned her head in his direction. “I said you could come in, dad.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I was afraid.” 

“I’m not an irrational monster,” Lisa said. “I’m just very upset with mom.”

“Oh, Lisa, your mother’s an amazing woman, but you don’t have to listen to everything she says,” Homer declared. “Don’t leave a whole chicken stuck between the couch cushions, Homer! Don’t gamble with the formula money, Homer! Psht, what does she know? I made forty bucks selling your sister’s old Malibu Stacy dolls to a bunch of bong-smoking teenagers!” He stage-whispered to her. “I think they took the heads off and used them to shot gun the smoke.”

Lisa shook her head. “Dad, this isn’t even about mom being right or wrong. It’s about my female role model ignoring my needs and wants and deciding that patriarchal obligations are more important than what I need as an activist and an openly queer woman!”

“Oh Lisa,” Homer said fondly. “If we start tailoring everything to fit every single person on the planet, we’ll have to start making shows for pink people and green people, and even purple people! Nobody has enough time to do that!”

“But purple people have forty-eight programs about them, and that’s just Fox’s primetime lineup!” Lisa protested.

“Yeah, if you don’t count the mauve people.” He glowered. “Lousy mauvians should go back to Mauvistan…”

“Can you please stop being colorphobic for a second?” she asked. Homer shrugged. “It’s just…I don’t know, dad. I just don’t get where mom’s coming from.”

“The answer is a very old fashioned place where moms still wear aprons with hilarious sayings on them and make cookies from scratch and her sister’s the only gay person in the world.” He nudged her in the ribs. “Just Patti and Mister Smithers…BUT WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT HIM.” He shouted instead of whispering.

“Dad,” she chuckled softly. “The only way to properly represent the multitudes of people who live in the sexual spectrum is to direct the pamphlets to every single human being on the planet. And if I have to upset mom a little to get there – I guess it’s a risk I’m gonna take.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Homer replied sincerely. “But it’s making you sad! And no patty oracle oppressor’s going to make my daughter sad! I’m in.”

Lisa smiled and wrapped her father up in a bear hug. “Thanks, dad.” 

“Any time, sweetie.


	4. The Healing Hands of Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peace lasted two golden summers. After that, Merida's got an admission to make to her folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Brave, Merida, After a while she realizes it's not even that she wanted to marry out of love (though that certainly makes the idea more bearable); it's more like she... doesn't want to marry anyone. Ever.

The peace lasted two golden summers. Two summers of play, friendship, riding, and family bonding. Then Merida turned seventeen, and her mother brought up the notion of a matchmaker.

Merida did what any daughter well-trained in diplomacy would do – she stalled for time. And so autumn passed into spring, and spring into summer. Merida’s eighteenth birthday arrived, but this time Elinor dug her heels in, preparing an expensive and luscious feast for her daughter that was beguiling – and would hopefully spark up some sort of romantic attraction for her among the wannabe swains once more invading the kingdom. Merida had learned again to flee to the sanctity of the wilds, and only her father could soothe the friction forming between the two of them.

When he found her, she’d climbed a tall lonesome pine and was sitting there whittling arrows in silence. From this far up, Fergus could see more of his kingdom than he’d seen in years. The air was scented with pine, sea water and violet, and in the distance the orange-red glow of the bonfires lit for her birthday crackled on.

Fergus had no interest in the trappings; what he wanted was his daughter’s return. “Merida! What are you doing?”

A cloud of red hair peeped over the side of the tree. “Hiding,” she declared, and disappeared into the safety of the branches.

You’re going to miss the honeycakes,” he warned her, clambering slowly up the trunk of the tree to the sturdy branch she inhabited. It was quite a long trip, but somehow he managed to find her. The things he did in the name of the castle’s eldest daughter, he mentally mumbled, settling heavily nearest the strong base of the branch.

Merida sat moping beside him, hand tucked into her palm. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t do what mum wants me to do,” she said. 

“Your mom’s not a wee dictator,” said Fergus. “Why, if you talk to her I suppose she’d be willing to hold off the ceremony for…maybe a few days.” He chuckled nervously, earning him a murderous glare from his daughter. 

“I don’t want to be married. Not now and not ever!” 

The passion in her voice startled Fergus. “You can’t mean that, lassie. Maybe if you wait another year the MacDonald boy will come into manhood and…”

“No, dad. It’ll be just like Dingwall and Fergal and all of the other boys I’ve courted,” Merdia hissed. “I’m just not interested in them. Or…any boy at all.”

This was far too much information for Fergus’ liking. “Are ye saying that you’d rather just stay single? Never have a wee family of yer own? No babes at your hips? No heirs to teach when you grow old?”

“I don’t care,” she muttered, prodding the base of the branch with her dagger. “I can always find a wee heir to foster if I wanted to have a babe.” But she couldn’t imagine herself a mother like her mother, swaddling an infant, cooing and singing to it. “There are lots of poor orphans in the village. We both know some mams don’t have enough milk to feed them.”

“Aww, c’mon lassie. It’s not all that grim,” said Fergus. Silence passed between them, and he understood that there was no easy way to turn her stubborn mind. Instead, he endeavored to support. “You know,” he added, sitting deliberately beside his daughter upon the log, “there’ve been a lot of fantastic unmarried queens. There was Boudicca, and Elizabeth of Ulster. Joan of Arc ran a whole army and nobody complained that she wasn’t married!”

“Wasn’t she burned at the stake?” Merida said.

“Well…” Fergus twiddled the end of his mustache nervously. “I won’t let anything like that happen to you! We aren’t in the dark ages anymore, y’know!”

“I know, dad,” she said, wrapping an arm around his bearish shoulders. After a hug, she said, “y’know, I am a wee bit hungry. I don’t suppose mom would hold dinner back for us.”

“Not when she’s this mad,” he said. Reaching for a limb to climb upon. “I trust ye, lassie. Wherever the kingdom goes in the future, I’ll be by your side.”

She knew – and knew she could trust him, permanently single or no.


	5. The Fault In Our Intramural Pee Wee Football Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butters is determined to finally come out of the closet in front of all of his friends. He decides that an impromptu - but important- game will be the perfect opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: South Park, Butters, Even though it was basically down to his classmates that he realized he was queer, none of his attempts to come out have gone well.

This wasn’t going to be easy. Nope, not at all. It’d probably be awfully tricky and scary – but hopefully not spooky. 

Oh hamburgers! He just wasn’t meant for this sort of anxiety-inducing revelation! He’d rather this just be another fun football game with the fellas. But instead he was stuck planning how to tell them all about 

This had never gone well. The last time he’d tried Lady Gaga had come to town and the entire affair had almost ended with half the AV club burned at the stake. Before that he’d tried it on a camping trip and their latest jaunt to the comic book store. But not a single journey had been fruitful.

Take his last attempt for example. They’d been cooped up in Kyle’s bedroom doing nothing when he’d broached the subject.

He’d been very nervous at the time, too. “Uh, say guys,” Butters said, rubbing his hands together.

“Look, can this wait?” Stan asked.

“Yeah, Butters,” Kyle said. “I’m sure whatever you have to say is cool, but we’ve got a bigger problem to deal with now.”

“But, geesh, fellas – I’m trying to tell you something really important!”

Kyle and Stan stared at Butters, as if unable to comprehend the notion of him having an important thought or notion. “Look, we can do this later. Right now there are aliens trying to eat through Cartman’s pee hole…”

“IT REALLY BURNS YOU GUYS,” Eric shouted from the sanctity of the nearby bathroom.

And – predictably but to Butters’ disappointment – things had promptly devolved from there. He’d been abducted by aliens and turned into Tommy Wiseau before they’d all learned the true meaning of making genuinely crappy movies for fun instead of profit. He wound up in the happy sanctity of his basement punishment chamber with no supper - just like any regular old Saturday night.

Each incident just served to make Butters more determined to reveal his true nature. It had all boiled to a head, and by golly, by gosh, this time he’d come out with it this afternoon, for once and all! 

Butter’s logic wasn’t perfect, but it was firm. The right time to tell them, he decided, would be during the gang’s next touch football game. Just after a huddle, of course – preferably after Cartman had finished his usual inspirational speech about ‘winning one for Mel Gibson’. The game was down to the wire and Butters – who had been picked last for Kyle’s team – would be kicking for points on the return. He waited for Kyle to snap the ball to him before starting.

“Fellas,” Butters said, holding the ball close to his chest, “I’ve got something important to say.”

“NOT NOW BUTTERS!” gritted out Kyle, as he tried to neutralize Token’s forward rush. 

“But…oh gee fellas…AHH!” He started running when Craig, Tweek and Pip all charged toward him. He’d made it all the way to the goal when anger suddenly boiled up in him and stilled his feet. “No!” Butters said, turning around, pressing his heels into the dirt.

“BUTTERS RUN THROUGH THE GOALPOST YOU GAYWAD!” shouted Cartman, his face stuck in Kenny’s armpit. 

“Now fellas, let me speak my piece! There’s been an awful lot going on in my brain and I wanna get it all out while I have the chance! I’ve been trying to figure out for a really long time if I’m just bicurious or REALLY bi, and I’m happy to say I’m coming on out of the closet. I’m here, I’m queer, and by golly, you should get used to it!” He then spiked the ball under the goal, winning a point for his team.

Tweek and Token groaned and backed away from the post. A long pause followed. Then Cartman’s voice rent the air. “Yeah, cool, whatever.”

Butters blinked. “Golly, I thought you guys were gonna make a huge fuss about it!” 

Stan spoke up, “Whatever, Butters, that’s super sweet. Can you go kick for a point now?”

Butters blinked in quiet surprise at the abruptness of the question. “Sure, guys,” he said, scratching his ear as he headed to the pitch. While the other boys set it up, he continued, “y’know what? I learned something today…it doesn’t matter if you’re gay or if you’re bi-curious or REALLY bi: all that really matters is the friends you have by your side, through better or worse and always.”

“JUST KICK THE BALL, GAYLORD!” Cartman shrieked.

Butters did just that.

…The ball didn’t tumble through the goalposts, but he kicked it all the same.


	6. The Yuma Yuma Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn makes a big splash by coming out of the closet - and by proposing to his best friend in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Psych, Shawn/Gus, Shawn has never exactly been subtle, and that holds true when he decides to come out

“Gus!” Shawn called.

Gus cringed at his friend’s enthusiasm. “I can hear you,” he complained. “And so can the whole diner, Shawn!”

Shawn lazily slipped into his spot beside his lover, then patted the Formica countertop. “Sir! Two coffees for me and one large chocolate shake for my fiancé.”

Gus spun toward Shawn and glared. “Oh no you did not! I did NOT say yes to that proposal,” Gus replied.

“Oh, Gus, my sweet, naive lover from another mother….” Shawn said, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t call me that in public,” Gus said, shrugging Shawn off. “Anybody could be watching us right now! They don’t need to know our business, or what we’re doing together or the fact that you tried to jam your grandmother’s ring onto my pinkie finger…”

“That’s beside the point! You were sweaty, it was dark, Hugh Jackman was crooning about bread. And, you should have told me you swell up when you have pretzels.”

“I’m very sensitive to salt!” 

“I’m going to warn you, Gus – I’m not good at taking no for an answer. I may have to shout it from the rooftops that I’m a proud homosexual man and you are now my homosexual luvahh.”

Gus buried his face in his palm. “Stop yelling,” he demanded. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be just to come out to my mom? Do you have to keep screaming about this to a bunch of total strangers?”

“Hey, little buddy. Don’t worry. ‘Cause you, my droll chum, are with me now. We are together. We are a unit. When you eat eggs, I eat eggs! When you sweat, I sweat! When you ask the waitress for more non-dairy creamer, I ask…”

“I get your point, Shawn,” Gus grunted.

“No you don’t! My point is that we’ll always be together! Just like a dippity ding de dong! Shama lama ding dong, Gus,” he said with great feeling. “Clang clang bip de dip de dop.”

“Stop quoting Grease to me, man,” Gus demanded. “Rizzo may be a very handsome woman for a sixty year old, but even the smooth vocal stylings of Olivia Newton John won’t get us out of this mess.” 

“I don’t want to be out of it, Gus!” He extended himself to his full height and spread out his arms. “We are in, in fact! I was hoping to be in it forever!”

“Shawn…” Gus glowered at him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you hear that, world?” Shawn shouted, standing upon a vacant stool, hopping from it to the Formica countertop and then spreading his arms wide. “I, Shawn Spencer, am a proud ho-mo-shectual!” 

“You’re standing in my rancheros huevos, Shawn,” complained Gus.

“It’s like a whole new world’s opened up for me!” Shawn enthused, wrapping an arm around Gus’ shoulders. “Colors look brighter! Drinks taste more awesome, and I can finally color-coordinate my sock draw.”

“You oughta be ashamed of yourself! Shawn, you’re playing into every single stereotype in the book!” Gus cried. “If you don’t take it down a peg or two I won’t introduce you to Greg and Bob.”

“Who’re they? Your swinging friends from the discotheque?”

“No, my real estate agents,” Gus said primly. “I was considering getting us a new apartment, but with you acting the fool like this….”

“I’ll be good!” Shawn said instantly. “I’ll be the most modest, sweetest, smartest gayist this side of the gaydom!”

“Shut up, Shawn,” Gus demanded, and leaned in for a kiss. 

At least that quieted his friend for awhile – not long enough, but enough to give Gus time to think. When the kiss broke, a dazed Shawn smiled up at him. “Boy, I need to get you excited more often.”

“I have a heart condition and a sensitive tummy,” Gus replied.

“Which is why I’m handling the reception!” Shawn grinned. “I wonder if the Yuma Yuma guy’s still doing bookings.” He stood up and ran to the nearest pay phone.

“I am NOT dancing at our wedding to the Yuma Yuma song, Shawn!” Gus complained, following right behind. He knew his determination would be tested – but he had faith that Shawn would listen to reason.

For his sake, if nothing else.


	7. Things We've Handed Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia is reluctant to confess to Ash where she slips off to every early morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Crossovers: Evil Dead (2013)/ Evil Dead Trilogy, Mia & Ash, Ash accepts and understand his new charge in demonslaying more readily than anyone in Mia's life ever has, which is what makes coming out to him so difficult for her.

“You’re starting to make me regret pulling over and picking you up.” 

Mia frowned at him through a lank cloud of hair. Ash waggled the empty milk carton he’d been holding before her eyes as he finally captured her attention. “Come on, kid. I suck badly enough at the grown up business. Don’t make it harder on me – buy more shit when we run out of it.”

She yanked a handful of hair out of her mouth and rolled her eyes. “Did somebody break your kneecaps while I was asleep? Because it looks like you can still walk.”

He snorted. “Wiseass. Come on, it’s time to get on your feet anyway,” Ash said. “We need to get down to the range and start you off with a gun. Takes effort to learn how to balance a stock against your shoulder.”

Her eyes widened. “Did we agree on Tuesday?”

“Nope. Thursday morning, one hour before work. That was the deal.”

She rolled out of bed and started pulling on the sneakers she’d discarded before flopping into bed the evening before. “Nooo,” she said. “No way. I’ve got things to do.”

“Deadites don’t wait for Sundays.” She faked a snore. “Don’t make me sound like my mother.” 

“Seriously dude, just please go back to bed. I’ll catch up with you after work for practice. Promise.” She’d scooped her purse up and was already making for the door.

“Fine! But don’t come whinin’ to me if you end up with some big, tall and uglies on your tail!” The front door slammed. “Fuckin’ teenagers,” Ash grunted, shuffling his barely-awake behind back to bed.

*** 

She was, for once, actually on time for their lunch meeting at the shooting gallery. And she only sported one visible scrape on her face, so she figured it would be worth doing a little bragging.

He said nothing while she shouldered her rifle and squinted down the sights, getting off another round before she could shoot her first. She missed two targets before Ash signaled for her attention.

“What the hell is this?”

“I was fine,” she glowered. 

“You’re all the way off base,” he said. 

She frowned as he helped her shoulder the gun. “You have to take the impact with your core.” Ash shouldered the butt against his own, and then pressed the trigger. Her body jerked against his, matching the shudder of the barrel as it delivered its payload straight into the chest of the dummy.

Mia seemed fairly pleased with his delivery, but couldn’t resist a touch of sarcasm as she tried again. “You know I’m a little tiny girl and you’re a big sweaty hairy man, right?”

“It’s not the size, kid – it’s how you use it.” 

“Eww,” she got off a round that speared a bullet through the target’s upper right shoulder. “Quit it with the TMI.”

“Right.” Ash emptied his gun into the chest of his own target. “So. Ready to tell me where you were sneaking off to?”

Mia paused. “I’m gonna plead the fifth while I use the first,” she said. She returned the gun to the counter before her and reached into her pocket for her cigarettes and a lighter.

“Fat chance. People like us don’t get to have the luxury of keeping secrets,” he said. “So spill.”

“Are you not big on secrets? We were big on secrets in my family,” Mia said, puffing on her cigarette, staring straight ahead.

“Well, you’re in a new tribe, kid.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Is it that serious?”

“It’s…no. I just don’t want to tell you.” Mia said. 

“Is it about you being queerer than a stack of glitter pancakes?” She choked. “You ain’t good at hiding shit,” Ash said. “And the lock on your diary was way too easy to pick.”

“And you don’t give a damn?” she asked.

“Nope. Hell, I don’t give a damn if you go digging for clams in the middle of Times Square,” he said, yanking hard on the trigger. “Long as you stand up for me, you’re family. Got it?”

She felt a tear roll down her cheek, then reached up and rubbed it away. “Yeah. I’m cool, man,” she declared.

A shriek came from the clubhouse, and he pushed her slightly behind him. “Follow me.” 

Mia’s jaw firmed, and she ducked her head. It was time to watch, observe, learn and try to emulate his actions as best she could. Soon it would be natural to behave as toughly as Ash did, but until then she’d try to learn how to lean on his willingness to listen to her.


	8. Surprise, Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry invites Shawn to a special dinner, and Shawn already has a nagging suspicion that there's something very important floating under the surface of the innocent invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Henry Spencer it's hard to tell your kid you're finally dating again. Some time later Henry discovers it's even harder to tell your kid you're dating a guy.

“Shawn!”

Shawn Spencer automatically hunched his shoulders and tried to hide behind Gus as Henry charged his way through the milling crows clogging the halls of the SBPD headquarters. But Henry had already reached him, his expression devoid of amusement as Gus pushed Shawn away and gave Henry a hello.

“Hi dad. What do you need?” Knowing Henry, it was highly likely that he’d stopped by just to lecture to Shawn about his moral failings.

“You to bring me a bottle of wine and show up at the house by four thirty.”

Shawn looked unimpressed. “Flattered, Pop, but I’m already spoken for.”

Henry frowned. “I’m inviting you to dinner, Shawn. With Juliet. And the wine.” 

Shawn frowned. “You keep emphasizing the wine. And while sweet, sweet liquor speeds up the bonding process, I really think you care more about it than my being there. Why?”

“Because I’ll need one of you there to help me deal with the other.” Henry stood up with a sigh. “Goodbye Shawn. Hello, Gus.”

“I’m not here!” Gus called from behind a potted plant.

Shawn shook his head as his father rushed off. “That poor, sweet, deluded man,” Shawn sighed. “Gus, I think he’s in love.”

Gus peeked through the leaves, raising an eyebrow. “Huh. Come to think of it, he did smell like Aqua Vite and gum.”

“The scent of a man who’s totally whipped,” Shawn said. “We’re going to have to get him out of this.”

“How?”

“By going to that dinner. And bringing wine – and your grandma’s famous sweet potato casserole.”

“Shawn, that hot dish takes four hours to make and it put that dish together…and I’m gonna do it anyway,” muttered Gus as he rushed after Shawn.

*** 

They arrived on time, with two hot dishes at their side. Shawn even combed down his hair – which frankly made him look squarer than the food he and Juliet had dumped into the chafing dishes they’d brought along. Gus tries to straighten his own bow tie as they wait for the door to open. 

“Worst case scenario,” Shawn mumbled as his father turned on the porch light, “is that she’s plotting to kill dad tonight. If that happens, we go Omega Plot Jules.”

Gus nodded solemnly. “We let her take care of it and raid the fridge.”

“Dibs on the turkey and the blueberry pie.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Juliet hissed.

“Don’t worry, Jules. Just let the power of the gun flooow through your bones!” Juliet batted away his hands, facing forward with an enormous smile when the front door opened. 

Henry took their coats and food, ushering them into the kitchen. As he ditched those in the bedroom, Shawn marched forth to the kitchen, index finger extended. 

“Shawn, this is….” Henry called as he raced down the kitchen stairs to the landing.

“No, dad, save what little breath you have left,” Shawn said. “I don’t know who you think you are, you shameless hussy, but only one of us is allowed to sponge off of my dad, and that’s me…” He trailed off at the sight of the older man sitting at the head of the table. His face was a familiar one, one seen at many a holiday and important birthday. “Uncle Lou?” he blurted out.

It was indeed his Uncle Lou, an old friend of his fathers who often appeared at various family functions with a big grin and a present for Shawn.

“I was trying to tell you gently,” Henry said, while Shawn stood still and sputtered. “Lou, this is Shawn’s best friend, Gus, and his girlfriend, Juliet.” 

Juliet smiled brilliantly and shoved the hot dish forward. Gus could only break the awkwardness by blurting out ‘we used to pee together’ in addendum to his introduction.

“Shawn, are you all right?” Henry asked, as he seated the rest of his guests.

“Well, pop. At first I was afraid. I was petrified. But now,” Shawn declared proudly, “I have TWO pops,” he grinned. “Who can spoil me and take me to Disneyland!” Shawn lurched across the table and almost pulled Lou’s head off as he enthusiastically tossed his arms around his father – and his father’s boyfriend ‘s - heads. “This is the best accidental public outing ever!”

“Is he always this talkative when he’s happy?” Lou asked Shawn’s armpit.

“Just try to ignore it, he’ll wear himself out and sleep on the car ride home.” Henry pushed himself out of Shawn’s clutching grip and proceeded to dish out the meal.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **various companies** , all of whom are the property of their **Acknowledged copyright holders**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
